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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151150">Wake Up Beside Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkipwrites/pseuds/mudkipwrites'>mudkipwrites</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: A New Dawn - John Jackson Miller, Star Wars: Rebels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Action &amp; Romance, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Background Relationships, Canon Rewrite, Developing Relationship, During Canon, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone is Queer, F/M, First Meetings, Found Family, Friends With Benefits, Light Dom/sub, Nobody is Dead, Origin Story, Post-Canon Fix-It, Shameless Smut, Star Wars: A New Dawn References, Star Wars: Rebels References, The Spectres, Trust Issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:01:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151150</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkipwrites/pseuds/mudkipwrites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times that Kanan Jarrus wakes up alone, plus one time that he wakes up with Hera Syndulla still right beside him. (A developing-relationship kanera fic set during the canon of "A New Dawn" and "Rebels"!)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wake Up Beside Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonerdotexe/gifts">bonerdotexe</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I want to thank Salamanda (@lotsodoodles on Twitter) for inspiring this fic. Amanda, not only are you an INCREDIBLE artist, but you are one of the kindest and most thoughtful people that I know. Thank you so much for being you! And thanks for shining such a bright light on the people around you! Hope that you enjoy this sweet and spicy Kanera. It was a pleasure!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p><b>ONE</b> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Chest heaving, Kanan Jarrus pushes a mess of sweating, dark hair out of his eyes. </p><p>The pounding heartbeat inside of his chest isn’t just from the fight with the Sarlacc gang. No; it’s because, once again, he’s within just a few step’s distance of reaching out to that enticing, <em> melodic </em> voice. Not just the voice, but its owner: <em> Her. </em> The woman. The-- <em> Twi’lek </em>woman, he realizes, eyes growing wide as the slim, short-figured person steps into the moonlight. Light from distant windows beyond the alleyway dances off her vibrant, shoulder-length, green lekku. It glimmers upon her parted and panting lips, illuminating her sharp, emerald eyes.</p><p>“<em>Ah. </em>You again?” the woman asks. She reaches out, snagging the cloth of her cloak from Kanan’s open, limp hand. “I knew that I’d forgotten something…” </p><p>The former padawan swallows. He knows how he must look right now: ragged, from traveling days to escape from that mine explosion; dogged, with rough, unwashed hands and now fresh, bloody wounds. While it’s not the ideal state to be courting a lover, he’s been <em> dreaming </em>of her voice for countless nights. Far be it from him to let this alluring woman escape once again.</p><p>“You okay there?...” Apparently, he must be staring. The woman is considering him, her voice equal parts concern and amusement. “...Do you speak Basic?” </p><p><em> “ </em> Er, uh, <em> yes!” </em> he replies, scrambling for words. Normally, Kanan Jarrus is nothing but smooth; however, that melodic voice seems to be doing something foggy inside of his head. “I guess I mean: <em> You. </em> I didn’t expect to run into your mysterious, hooded figure again so soon,” he manages. When she cocks a tattooed eyebrow at him, he rushes on, “Uh, isn’t that the whole thing you’re going for with that hooded cloak-and-dagger? <em> Mysterious?”   </em></p><p>Internally, Kanan kicks himself. <em> Words fail me.  </em></p><p>The woman smiles. Her white, slightly-pointed teeth illuminate the dusky alleyway. She slides back under her cloak, sheathing some kind of weapon that he hadn’t even seen her draw in the shaded moonlight. <em> Beautiful, </em> he thinks, taking in her emerald eyes and pointed chin. <em> Dangerous, </em>he amends. He’d just seen the woman fight off those Sarlaccs without gaining so much as a scratch. Beyond the soft line of sweat that glimmers upon her lime-colored brow, any onlooker would never know that she’d launched herself into a successful battle. </p><p>She shakes her head, tattooed lekku swaying gently. “If you knew what was good for you,” she says, voice melodic and soft, “you’d keep your distance.” </p><p>Kanan blinks, dumbfounded. <em> I--you--what?! </em> Mouth open, he watches her step away into the heavy shade of the alley. As her soft footsteps begin to fade away, he realizes that he is only seconds from losing sight of the mysterious woman again. He gasps, darting forward. “Wait!” he calls, striding after her and reaching out. “Are--are <em> you </em>okay? That was quite a fight back there!” </p><p>His hands brush the back of her retreating cloak, and the woman pauses. She turns to face him, cocking her head to the side. On top of her head, she wears a grey pilot’s mask, sheltering the more sensitive parts of her ear-cones and lekku. On her shoulders and chest is a golden-orange jacket, paired with a set of tactical coveralls. “<em> I’m </em> just fine,” she replies, voice teasing and light. “But <em> you’re </em>very lucky that I was there to save you.” </p><p>Whatever Kanan was going to say, his mouth drops open again. “Save--save <em> me?!” </em>he asks incredulously. </p><p>The green Twi’lek shakes her head again, turning to walk away from him again. Over her shoulder, she says, “I hired them for a job. Everything was handled just fine, up until that last minute when you showed up. The Sarlacs decided to cheat me out of some promised credits…” she laughs softly, and the sound of it makes Kana’s stomach flutter with nerves. “...but that wasn’t very smart of them, was it?”</p><p>“No,” Kanan agrees firmly. He’s hovering beside her, pulled into her wake, flowing along with the force of her tide. </p><p>She pulls her walking to a halt. The woman turns to face him, her green eyes flicking over his form. She studies him with what might be curiosity, or what might be interest. Either way, he likes the look that she is giving him. It makes circles spin around in his head, and he wishes that she would look at <em> all </em>of him with that same, intense gaze. </p><p>“And what about <em> you?” </em> she asks, raising a fist to bump it against his bruised jaw. “Are you a smart man? Or are you planning to be... <em> persistent?” </em> </p><p>Kanan’s heart races inside of his chest. <em> Does she mean--?! </em> He wonders, hoping that the woman is interpreting his interest correctly. <em> Is she saying that--could she also be wanting---? </em>As he stares at her, a new kind of smile plays over her lips. The woman’s hand, so soft on his chin, now turns over and grips against the bruised flesh. He gasps slightly as the stubble of his chin rasps over the softness of her fingers, as the warmth and firmness of her touch locks him in. He is riveted to the spot: she commands every ounce of his attention with her touch and presence.  </p><p>“I-I’ve been known to be persistent,” Kanan manages. His heart thunders inside of his chest. “You need something done? I’m there. I’m your man.” </p><p><em> “Mmm,” </em> the woman says. With the pad of her thumb, she traces over his jaw. Kanan shivers, delighting in the delicious softness of her skin moving against his, in the hardness of where she is still holding onto him. When her fingertip reaches the edge of his mouth, he gasps his lips open against the touch. “Hard-working guy? Willing to get the job <em> done? </em>” </p><p>Kanan groans softly.</p><p>Still holding him with that gentle, firm grip, the woman's fingers reach farther into his mouth. Kanan bites down on the entering edge of her thumb, nibbling at the ridge nail as it explores past his parted lips. He swirls his tongue over the fingertip, feeling the texture of its ridges and whorls. Closing his eyes, he wonders about who this mysterious person might be. <em> Probably should ask. </em>   “W-what’s your name?” he asks-- <em> just </em>before the pad of her thumb presses down on his tongue, silencing him. </p><p>“<em>Hera,” </em>she answers.</p><p>Then, she is leaning up towards him and kissing him. <em> Fiercely.</em>  </p><p>Of all the shocks that Kanan Jarrus had endured this week, his embrace with Hera is the most pleasurable. In the years since his flight from Coruscant, he’s taken countless lovers--men and women, human and alien--but <em> none </em> of them have ever taken him by such sudden and intense surprise. Or with so much <em> ferocity, </em> sweeping him away so completely and quickly that he’s uncertain which direction is up or down. Kanan Jarrus’ head is spinning. All he knows and is this woman, this <em> voice </em>, the sighs of her breath filling his ears, and it’s sending him into the dark, starry skies. </p><p>They break apart, and Kanan is panting. </p><p>Hera smiles, her teeth glittering in the revealed slats of moonlight. Kanan, heart pounding, feels himself leaning forward. He finds himself being guided by the tug of her hands upon his shoulders, lowered until he is nearly crouching. When her mouth is next to his ear, the Twi’lek woman asks: “You live around here, Mr. Persistent?” The ghost of her warm breath fans over the shell of his ear, raising goosebumps upon the thin flesh that covers his thundering pulse. “You talk a big game, for somebody who hasn’t delivered. Take me home, why don’t you?” </p><p>He shivers. <em> Damn. This woman </em> <b> <em>really </em> </b> <em> likes to be on the driver’s side! </em>He may not be used to it, but he can’t lie: it’s currently doing marvelous things to his insides. And Kanan cannot wait to see what else that smooth, commanding voice has in store for him. </p><p>“Um, yeah," he replies, nodding eagerly and lisping around her inserted thumb. "I got a spot back at the <em> Asteroid Belt. </em>Barkeep is a friend of mine.” When he sees the skin of her nose wrinkle in distaste, he adds, “it’s the room up above the main dining area. Not just one of those spare cots on the floor.” Looking a little more satisfied, Hera pops her finger back out of his mouth. Tilting his chin, she kisses him.</p><p><em> “Lovely,” </em> she replies, words hot and breathy upon his lips. “Then let’s <em> go.” </em> Hardly believing his luck, Kanan takes her open hand. </p><p>The rest of the night is a blur: a rush through the twisted and winding streets of Gorse, stopping frequently for some rough, frantic kissing against the crumbling stone walls; a weave through the clamoring bar and a climb up the stairs, with drinks in one hand and a laughing Hera in the other; a hasty, delicious tangle of fabric, leaving both of them half-clothed and falling together into Kanan’s bed, crushing their hot mouths and even more heated bodies together with frightful, hurried speed. It had been <em> glorious-- </em>perhaps, the best kriffing that Kanan could even remember. </p><p>And when he wakes up the next morning--head fuzzy, body bruised, sated and heavy-she is <em> gone.  </em>Long gone, judging by the coolness of his empty sheets. </p><p>Groaning with disappointment, Kanan throws his hands over his eyes. He’d <em> meant </em> to get a comm-link number from her; he’d <em> meant </em>to ask her for more details so that he could find her again, something along the lines of “what’s your last name?” or “where are you from?” and “what are you doing here, on a run-down planet like this?” But, in the heat and excitement of the moment, he’d all but forgotten. </p><p>And now, it seems, it is too late. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><b>TWO</b> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Look, lady,” Kanan Jarrus says tiredly, shaking his head at the odd Sullustan woman kneeling behind the bar. “I don’t know who you think that I am, or what you think that you heard. But you don’t know me. And I don’t make a habit of just going around and helping people in my spare time.” </p><p>“Well, that’s not what <em> I </em> heard,” inserts a melodic voice from the <em> Asteroid Belt’s </em>bartop. </p><p>It takes every bit of Kanan’s cool, calm composure not to jump out of his skin. Resisting the urge not to swipe a hand over his sweating brow and fix his fallen hair, the former padawan turns his eyes from the Sullustan and fixes his gaze on the now-familiar, green-skinned Twi’lek. His throat constricts with anxious emotion. </p><p>“Hey there, Hera,” he replies, dumping every ounce of preformative smoothness into the words. </p><p>The Twi’lek woman winks back at him. <em> She is </em> ... <em> everything. </em> Despite being left without so much as a good-bye the other morning, Kanan feels himself being pulled towards the woman’s presence like a gravity well. Her eyes are intelligent, fierce and glittering with determination behind a layer of fresh, smokey kohl that enanches the sharp lines of her face. Her outfit is the same, practical getup as the last time he’d seen her--grey, woven cloak and burnt orange coveralls--but the way that it clings to her body is pleasant, and it reminds him of the warmth of the soft curves beneath. Kanan feels his heart ( <em> amongst other organs) </em>stirring with heady excitement as he remembers the way that their bodies had tangled together earlier that week. </p><p>It’s all he can do to hope for another. </p><p>“Fancy seeing you here,” he states, leaning an elbow upon the wooden bar. “I thought that maybe you’d skipped town.” <em> Don’t make it sound like you’re asking for pity, </em> a voice inside of his head quickly urges. <em> You want her, but you can’t be pathetic! </em>“Anyway,” he rushes on, “it’s nice to see you around. Really lights up a room.” </p><p><em>Ugh, </em> he thinks to himself, cringing. <em> Rotten pick-up line. </em>But there’s just something about this woman that seems to make his typically-quick brain stop working…</p><p>Hera laughs, musical, and the dark wings of makeup around the corners of her beautiful eyes commands his attention. Forgetting about his self-consciousness, Kanan scoots one high-topped, wooden stool over so that he might sit closer. “What are you drinking?” he asks, leaning in. “Let me get you another.” </p><p>She smirks at him. “Thanks,” she replies. “And I’m actually here for a meeting. You know any place in this bar a little bit...<em> quieter </em>?” </p><p>Kanan feels his brain lurch to a shuddering halt. <em> Is she--does she mean--right here, right now?!-- </em> he licks his lips, looking around the dingy bar. “Uhh, like I said, I know the owner,” he replies. “Sure I do! There’s a nice table in the back groom. Good lighting, doesn’t get disturbed by the louder patrons.” </p><p>“Great!” Hera’s smile is illuminating, and hit makes his knees feel like jelly. <em> Is she really here for </em> <b> <em>me</em> </b> <em> ? </em>“You get those drinks, and meet us back there.” </p><p>Kanan is almost too starstruck for this information to process. However, when he does, he realizes that Hera is making her way towards the Sullustan woman crouched behind the bar. He watches, frowning, as the two women begin to quietly talk, and Hera places a hand on her shoulder. His frown deepens when they turn together and walk back towards the shaded part of the bar, the <em> intimate </em>part that he’d pointed out earlier. </p><p>
  <em> Perhaps, she is not here for me after all…  </em>
</p><p>Several trips to refresh their drinks later, it became clear to Kanan that Hera was truly and actually present for the other woman. She was, as far as he could tell, some kind of secret, political contact--perhaps a person working for the Empire, and who could reveal critical information. <em> But what is it that Hera is so passionate about?, </em>he wonders, watching the animated expressions upon her face as she listens to the Sullustan talking. He’s spent time with many people (and their various passions for social justice), and he can tell that she is fully-committed to whatever she is doing. But whatever it is, he is hesitant to get more involved. He’s seen enough of people like Skelly--and the trouble that they seem to bring with them--to last him an entire lifetime. </p><p>“Speak of the bogan,” Kanan mutters darkly, “and the bogan shall appear.” </p><p>Because it is none other than <em> Skelly, </em> his former co-worker--recently turned explosives-radical-- who had appeared inside of the <em> Asteroid Belt </em>bar. </p><p>With his same batch of usual luck, Kanan groans as the red-haired Correlian man weaves his way around the tables and makes a direct path towards them. Strangely, his presence sets their new friend the Sullustan twitching into an anxious, sudden departure; and, stranger still, he seems to already <em> know </em> Hera when he arrives at the table. After listening to a ( <em> frankly, absurd) </em> conversation about why the Twi’lek woman had once released him from jail, Kanan begins to think that maybe, just <em> maybe, </em>this alluring woman is not worth the trouble into which he might be stepping.</p><p>This suspicion is heartily confirmed when a dozen Storm Troopers burst into the bar. </p><p>“Let’s get out of here!” Skelly hisses, tugging hurriedly at Kanan’s arm. “Buddy, you gotta help me out! If they catch me before I get a chance to clear my name,” his eyes are wide, reflecting the guilt of his sabotage at their mutual jobsite, “If they take me before I have a chance to <em> prove </em>myself to the right people, I’m gonna end up in a deep pit somewhere!” </p><p>“Let go of me,<em> ” </em> Kanan growls. He shakes the man off, glancing around them. “I’m <em> not </em>your buddy, but nobody needs that to happen.” </p><p>He looks around at the bar, feeling his emotions shifting from impatience to worry. <em> Keep a low profile, </em> a wise mentor had once told him. <em> Avoid detection at all costs. Stay safe, and stay out of the hands of the Empire. </em> These days, he doesn’t need anyone to tell him such things; after experiencing the horrific slaughter at the Jedi temple, he’s been continually on the run, keeping his head low and his profile lower. <em> I can’t afford to get detained, either.  </em></p><p>“How’s your Shyriiwook?” he asks, an idea suddenly catching inside of his mind as he stares at a half-opened refresher. “Think you can manage the accent if you are hurling?...” </p><p>It’s a narrow escape: the Storm Troopers are skeptical of his and Hera’s story, but eventually buy into the idea that an ale-sick Wookiee is harbored inside of the locked ‘fresher door. Now freed from the ties to Skelly (or the Sullustan contact, Zaluna), Kanan decides to take his chances with Hera again. “Nice moves back there,” he pants, running down the dark alleyway behind her. “I thought that for sure they were going to put us in binders.” </p><p>Hera laughs, and the sound of it makes a stupid, lop-sided grin spill across his own face. </p><p>“Nice moves <em> yourself </em>, Smart Guy,” she replies. Hera hops over a fence with a graceful, practice ease, and again Kanan wonders about her athletic, warrior’s training. “That was some quick talking back there. You really know how to use that silver tongue of yours when it proves useful.” She throws a coy look over her shoulder. </p><p>Kanan’s heart thumps inside of his chest. He thinks of their night together, and the way that he’d buried that tongue between her soft thighs. </p><p>“You said that you regret losing Zaluna,” he says, pulling up to a huffing stop beside her, “and that you’re looking for competent people.” He stands tall, straightens his vest, doing his best to look important. “Well, you’re in luck: because I’m your guy. And it just so happens that my schedule recently opened up.” </p><p>Hera turns to look at him, placing her hands on her hips. </p><p>She appears skeptical of his offer, but amused. Her mouth twitches with humor. Her breath is heaving inside of her chest, and Kanan cannot help but remember the silky softness of her tiny, striped breasts cupped within the palms of his hands. <em> “Really.” </em> </p><p>“Really!” he replies eagerly. Kanan Jarrus opens his fingers, expansive.  “I can do <em> anything! </em> All <em> sorts </em> of things! I’ve worked as a pilot and a freighter. I can haul heavy goods, and I’ve done transport work. Hell, I’ve even done some security work once or twice as a guard back at the old bar.” He flexes his arms, hoping to impress her. <em> It might be difficult: she is already so impressive by herself. </em> “I may not look like much, but I’m pretty strong. And, like you said: I’m a smart guy. <em> Persistent.”  </em></p><p>Boldly, he steps closer to Hera. </p><p>She looks up at him, eyes reflecting the moonlight above. It reminds him of the first night that they had met--of the first time he’d heard her voice, seen her face, touched her sensitive lek. Shivering at the blurred memories of intimacy, Kanan tells himself that, <em> this time, </em> if he can get another chance, he will <em> not </em> have any drink inside of him. He wants to remember: wants to engrave the look, the texture, the <em> feel </em> of her on himself in his mind, rather than to be left searching for those hot, half-formed memories in the foggy distance. </p><p>“Well. At the very least, I can vouch for <em> that.” </em></p><p>Hera echoes his motions, stepping close enough that he can feel the heat rolling off her body. She takes his outstretched hand, slipping her slim, green fingers to be entwined with his. Kanan shudders, resisting the urge to let his eyelids close simply for the luxurious warmth of her form so near. <em> How are you so impossibly soft, lovely and curved in all the right ways--and yet, how are you so impossibly </em> <b> <em>hard, </em> </b> <em> cut out of steel far stronger than mine? </em>World spinning again, he rubs his thumb on the palm of her hand. <em>“Yes.” </em></p><p>“Well then, what do you say to this, Kanan Jarrus?” she asks. “Tonight: you take me home again. And then, <em> tomorrow: </em>you loan me that Moonglow pass.” </p><p>Kanan blinks. He hadn’t expected that kind of a request from the mysterious woman. <em> Why does she want my work badge? What does she even </em> <b> <em>need </em> </b> <em> it for? </em> He remembers how she’d informed himself and Zaluna at the bar that she was here on Gorse looking to track down Count Vidian; he remembers how passion had lit up her eyes when she’d informed him that she “ <em> had eyes; had ears; listened to what was going on around her.” </em>He wonders if, in giving her his pass, that he might possibly be aiding and abetting a criminal. Once again, he ponders if this Hera Syndulla is really worth it. </p><p><em> Who am I even kidding. Of </em> <b> <em>course </em> </b> <em> she is!  </em></p><p>“Sure, sweetheart,” he replies, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “Like I said: I’m your guy. Anything that you need.” He squeezes the fingertips against her arm, slides it seductively down the length of her back. “And I do mean…<em> anything.”  E</em>ven with all his bravado, Kanan feels his face warm at the burning look that she returns to him. </p><p>“You’re a surprising man, Kanan Jarrus,” she replies in a purr. “Good<em>. </em>And, yes, I think that I just might have a few ideas of what you might do for me...at least, <em>tonight</em>.” </p><p>Her hand--the one that is wrapped lightly around his waist--slides lower upon his body. Her fingertips, dexterous and clever, whisper over the edge of his trembling hip. One thumb, with its claw shaved down to a rounded point, slips beneath the edge of his tightened belt. He twitches at the warmth of that gentle touch glides over his skin, then <em> gasps </em>as that thumb presses sharply into the cleft of his ass. “Tell me, Smart Guy: what do you know about <em> safe words?”  </em></p><p>And, as it turns out: less than he thought.  </p><p>This time, he goes to lengths to make certain that he will remember the fullness of their pleasure. This time, he asks her last name--<em>Syndulla</em>--and he triest gets her comm number--<em>unlisted</em>. And yet, after this second night together, he hardly thinks that he’d need such details to maintain the memories. Even though she’s left him alone in his bed once again, he’ll remember her, and he’ll find her once again. Because has been known by Hera. He’s been marked by her; <em> claimed </em>by her. Kanan’s certain of this as the black-and-blue bite marks trailing along his neck and shoulder. He’s as solid in this thought as the sweet, burning firmness of his rigid cock, already weeping this morning despite the previous overstimulation. He’s as sure and as centered as the hot, tender ache of his insides, pounded molten and raw by the force of her green, tattooed strap. </p><p>Releasing a groan of mingled horror and pleasure, Kanan rubs at his tender flesh. <em> You’re in love with her, </em> he realizes. <em> You’re in love, and the woman might just be crazy. </em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><b>THREE</b> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>It would seem as though Kanan Jarrus had underestimated just how much Hera Syndulla would upend the pattern of his complacent life. </p><p>He only had himself to blame, of course: he’d bantered with the woman, followed her down the alleyway, brought her home <em> (repeatedly </em> ) to his lonely bed. Back at the <em> Asteroid Belt, </em> when they’d first crashed into Zaluna and Skelly, he’d suspected that she might get him into trouble. But he <em> hadn’t </em> expected that this kind of trouble would involve witnessing murder; participating in Imperial <em> treason; </em> evading Storm Trooper pursuist; surviving explosive warfare; and, <em> finally, </em> setting up a crash course for a life of rebellion and peril. </p><p>“You’re doing this all wrong,” Hera lectures their fellow refugees of Skelly and Zaluna. “This is no way to make a difference against the Empire.” </p><p>She paces up and down the dingy safe-house room. After dumping the busted remains of the hoverbus into a quarry pit, they’d followed the shaken Sullustan (<em> who’d survived the firefight by hiding in the vehicle’s bathroom) </em> back to Okadiah’s bar. Now, as the small group of not-quite friends debrief what had happened over the course of the frantic day, Kanan watches Hera bloom into a passionate fury. And, <em> sure </em> , he admires her passionate spirit--but if she’s not careful, she’s going to end up <em> killed, </em> just like the unfortunate Basilisk guard and his wife. And if a high-ranking security chief like Gord was so neatly disposed of by an Imperial like Vidian…he shudders to think what might happen to nobodys like <em> them.  </em></p><p>“And so what do you propose?” Kanan asks, feeling his impatience rising. “You said that these guys can <em> blow up a moon! </em> Do you really think that there’s anything <em> we </em>can do?” </p><p>Hera folded her arms. She glared at him, baring those sharp and beautiful teeth. “Don’t you care about <em> anything?” </em>she snaps, cheeks flushing dark green. Even though she is clearly angry, Kanan finds himself transported to one of their shared evenings together. “Anything, that is, except yourself?” </p><p>Kanan raises an eyebrow. “Nope. I try not to. Less disappointing that way.” </p><p>The Twi’lek throws up her hands. With a growl, she turns away and goes back to pacing the room. “<em> Fine. </em>I’ll do this without you if I have to. Zaluna? You’ve given us the information that we need; get yourself somewhere safe, and stay out of the Empire’s way.” She flips a hand towards Skelly, dismissing the human. “Skelly, you too. We know that the Imps have your face on record; you’ve got to get out of here, and stay low if you can.” </p><p>The red-haired human grunts. “But what about the moon?” he asks, scratching at his face. “If they can <em> really </em>blow it up, shouldn’t I try and help you do something?” </p><p>Kanan turns towards the doorway, sighing as he departs. If Skelly and Hera want to risk their lives by doing something insane that will get themselves captured or killed: <em> fine. </em>They can do that. But he doesn’t have to participate in it; he doesn’t have to go walking into the open fire, knowing what they will do to Force-sensitives like him if they’re found. </p><p>As he pushes open the door, leaving the other three inside of Okadiah’s safe-house, he can feel the angry, judgemental eyes of Hera Syndulla upon his back. <em>Fine. Whatever. Let her think what she wants.  </em>With durasteel in his reserve, he stomps away down the stairs. </p><p>The next morning, Kanan wakes tired and cold. The night had been longer and more restless than any other he can remember. After spending two moons under Hera’s spell, he’d found himself aching for warmth and companionship. For some reason, waking up alone had been even more bitter than going to sleep that way; in the hazy seconds in-between dreaming and waking, he’d almost imagined the feel of her lips. </p><p>Cursing, he’d pulled himself from bed. </p><p>Even though he didn’t want to participate in their wild and crazy schemes of rebellion, Kanan still wanted to help out the others before his departure. After refreshing himself in the silent, empty room, he’d brought them heavy, shadowed cloaks over to the safe house. The three grateful others had waited until nightfall to venture out, shuffling into the moonlight beneath the hefty robes pretending to be a clan of blood-cultists.</p><p>“Well, here we are,” Kanan says, his voice grim and humorous. “The whole weird, nutty family. We’ve got mom and dad; grandma; and the crazy uncle.” </p><p>His comic words even surprise himself. Mentally, he realizes that he’s just placed himself in the role of parent alongside Hera. It seems that in spite of his lingering irritation from the night before, he’s slipped right back into seeing her as a potential partner. <em> The power, </em> he thinks, shaking his head with a rueful smile. <em> She’s really something, isn’t she, this Hera Syndulla?  </em></p><p>And she <em> is. </em></p><p>Kanan watches her flit through the moonlight, keen emerald eyes reflecting the scattering of stars above. “My ship is nearby,” Hera is murmuring to the Sullustan woman. “Where would you like us to drop you off? Is there--somewhere <em> else-- </em>that you think you could manage? It’s going to be important for you to lay low for a while, just in case the Empire associates you with us and you get dragged into treason.” </p><p>Beneath his cloak, Kanan smiles to himself. Even with the Imperial sympathizer, Hera is still compassionate. </p><p>When the other two pull away, he draws close to her shoulder. “So, you’ve got a ship?” he asks, making sure that he sounds thoroughly impressed. <em> (Kanan is not surprised; after her skilled driving of the hoverbus yesterday, he’d allow her to drive him in anything, anywhere.) </em>“That’s perfect. We can head out on that joyride, just like we planned.” </p><p>Hera turns her eyes upon him, frowning. </p><p>“I hate to sound like that droid from yesterday, Kanan: but I <em> don’t </em> take riders,” she says, her voice sounding serious. The tone startles him, and Kanan raises his eyebrows. “I’m not travelling the stars for companions, or for places to see,” she continues. “I have <em> goals. </em>I don’t need anyone who isn’t interested in them slowing me down.” </p><p>Kanan stops in his walking beside her, raising his hands. “That’s a little bit harsh, isn’t it?” he asks, trying to keep his voice light. </p><p>“Not from where I see it,” Hera replies. “As far as I can tell, you just ‘<em> roll with the punches.’ </em> And you get in line with whoever is in charge.” Her eyes soften “But I’m not like that, Kanan. I see power being abused, and I stand up to it. I see someone in need of help, and I respond to the call. Every time, without pay. So we are not the same.”</p><p>Kanan feels a sinking, startling disappointment rippling up through his stomach. It twists and burbles, sour in his gut. <em> Is...that true? Is that who I really am?  </em></p><p>“I do appreciate you, though, what you’ve done for me.” He blinks, and realizes that the green Twi’lek woman is reaching out with one hand towards him. Feeling slightly light-headed and stunned, he reaches back, accepting the gesture. Once again, Kanan resists the urge for his eyes to slide closed as he feels the smoothness and warmth of her skin against his. “Thank you, Kanan Jarrus. I wish you good luck.” </p><p>Stammering a few, final words of departure, Kanan watches the trio of rebels walk away. He feels numb, rooted to the ground in the spot, and waits there until their figures disappear. He stands within the bustle of the street, wondering what is going to happen to him now. Last night, he’d had the potential to join some kind of mysterious, potentially-lethal uprising; now, he’s been dropped back into his regular life, and he feels as though he is a ship unmoored. He doesn’t know if he can go back to a time before Hera Syndualla’s musical voice; he cannot know if he’ll ever find another partner who can speak to him with that same kind of clear, firm command. With the feeling as though his world is collapsing, Kanan feels the earth tremble beneath his feet. </p><p>But then...is it...<em> actually </em>trembling? </p><p>In a howling blast of chaos and fire, the moon hanging above him appears to <em> explode. </em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><b>FOUR</b> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Something important has shifted between them. </p><p>Kanan gasps into the wet, burning slide of their passionate kiss. The thrusting between them has grown tense and erratic, and it takes <em>everything</em> that he has not to finish this second as the green Twi’lek rides him relentlessly. Breaking the seal of their kiss, his hands slip down the glistening plane of her back and scrabble for purchase upon the soft, heaving plush of her ass. </p><p>“Not <em> yet,</em> love,” Hera Syndulla commands.</p><p>Her voice is strained and heavy from panting. Her lithe, beautiful hips undulate powerfully against his wet skin, slapping fiercely with each and every thrust down upon his shaking erection. Groaning with pleasure, she drives him with all the confidence and skill of her starship.</p><p><em> “S-soon?”  </em>Kanan asks, feeling himself shudder with restrained pleasure. </p><p>They are tangled together, hands and bodies entwined as Hera’s starship races away into the darkness of space surrounding Zaluna’s hideout. After what had been a tumultuous week--narrowly escaping the wrath of Sloan; entrapping Vidian in his own scheme; <em> exposing himself as a Force user-- </em> Kanan and Hera had left Gorse behind. In the rubble of the broken moon, they’d also abandoned his pretense that ‘Kanan Jarrus’ was a man who ‘just didn’t care’ about the Empire, nor the suffering of those around him. No; somehow, in spite of his illusionss, Hera Syndulla had drawn out the <em> real </em> Caleb Dume. And now, after his heroic re-emergence, Kanan just <em> knows </em> that something between them is different. It looks, walks and feels like appreciation. And, in the very <em> best </em> of moments, it even feels like a blooming, intimate <em> trust </em>.  </p><p>“Soon,” Hera Syndulla agrees. </p><p>Her own melodic, beautiful voice is beginning to shake with the effort herself. Glistening with the heat of their frantic fucking, trembling from the aftershocks of her first orgasm, his lover throws back her head and sighs out with pleasure. Kanan is <em> mesmerized </em> by the sight of Hera: her long, smooth column of neck glittering with beads of shared exertion; her lovely, plush lips parted and bitten, rosy with the pressure of kissing; her beautiful, perfect breasts, jolting and fluid upon her chest with the force of their thrusts.  </p><p>Suddenly she is rocking back, using one hand to grope for her lek. “<em>Kanan,” </em> she groans, fisting and squeezing the tattooed mound of sensitized flesh. “ <em> Mmmmnn </em> ! Okay, y-yes:<em>now!” </em> </p><p>Kanan <em> adores </em> that permissive word. Ever obedient to his new captain, he releases into her with an explosive <em> gasp. </em> Nearly sobbing from the relief, he feels himself shudder as he shoots jet after jet of hot spend into his lover, thighs quaking and toe muscles curling. “ <em> Uuggh,” </em> he groans, body afloat with relief and affection. “ <em> Hera. </em> I think. I’m in <em> lov</em>--” </p><p>“--<em> Shhhhh,” </em>she urges. Kanan’s voice is muffled beneath her wet, musky fingers. </p><p>Keeping a hand over his parted lips, Hera grinds into her second orgasm. All it takes is a few, final thrusts of her shuddering hips--and then, her muscular thighs begin to tremble and clench; her nipples rise and peak into firm, erect mounds; her jaw trembles and rolls backwards on her head, shoulders bowed inward, folded in pleasure. </p><p>Awash in sensation, Kanan braces her body with weak, grateful hands. He watches her slide off his flaccid, limp cock, unleashing a drainage of hot seed between them.  He watches her lift herself up and lean forward, grinding her swollen clit against his sodden pelvis. He watches her body thrash, searching for that last moment of perfect friction before her cheeks flush dark and her long eyelashes flutter tightly closed.He watches her--so close, and yet, still completely out of reach--this woman whom he loves, and who does love him in return. </p><p>“<em>Yesss,” </em> Hera hisses, arching her back in a sinuous motion. “<em>Yes, </em> Kanan. <em> So. Gooood! </em> ” </p><p>Among the changes between them, the Twi’lek now uses his name during sex. She calls him various pet-names--<em> Smart Guy, Mr. Persistent, </em> even <em> Love-- </em> but none of them set his heart racing like hearing his name on her lips. Even though it’s not his true name, and even though she has expressed countless times that she has no interest in ‘traveling companions,’ he cannot help but feel as though it is <em> intimate </em> when he hears such words falling between them. </p><p>“I’m glad...that you…<em> enjoyed </em> it!” he pants. They’ve been at this for nearly an hour <em> ; </em> and, even in peak physical condition, Kanan finds himself quite out of breath. “I know that <em> ...I </em>did!”</p><p>Hera, hands now framing his shoulders, smiles down at him. It’s a blissful and dreamy expression, and one that Kanan has come to know and love. He sees it spreading across her face after they have finished a particularly rigorous session of making love; after she has expertly avoided an asteroid field; after they’ve been arguing, and the throws up his hands, out-matched and out-witted. </p><p>He’s never seen anything <em> nearly </em> as beautiful. </p><p>“Good man,” she agrees, bending down to place a kiss upon his lips. After the heat of their make-out and sex, it seems gentle and chaste. The soft, closed-lipped press of a smooth, warm mouth over his is comforting, wrapping him up in a blanket of care. “It seems as though you were telling me the truth after all. You <em> are </em> a man of many talents, Kanan Jarrus.” She smirks, kissing each one of his cheeks and his forehead as well. “I’m beginning to believe you about that whole <em> ‘up for anything’ </em> business.”</p><p>Now it’s <em> his </em> turn to grin. </p><p>Kanan remembers his eagerness to impress her back in the alleyway during their first encounter with the Sarlaccs. He’d been stupid and arrogant, but never <em> lying. </em> “Hey, what can I say?” he replies. “Guess that I’ve picked up more than a few handy <em> skills </em>along the way.” Kanan assists the pair of them in sitting up, his eyes following Hera as she reaches for her coveralls. “Being on under-cover and on-the-run tends to do that.” </p><p>“...Yeah?” her voice is curious. </p><p>Caught by surprise at his own words, Kanan winces. Although he’ll admit that he is in love with Hera, he’s not sure if he’s ready to reveal all the painful, strange pieces of his broken past. It’s not about his lover, of course: she’s an incredible woman, and has proven herself more than trustworthy. It’s about his own moments of pain and terror--the kind that wake him up, sweating and screaming during the night. He doesn’t want to dump that on her; he doesn’t want to lose her over <em> baggage.  </em></p><p>“Yeah. But um,<em> anyway, </em> ” he reaches down, grabs his cast-aside boxers, “one of those jobs that I took was a <em> lifeguard.” </em>He raises an eyebrow. “What do you say? Wanna shower together?” </p><p>He doesn’t feel bad when she shakes her head, declining the offer. Kanan has tried countless times to deepen the relationship between them into something more than a physical gesture; but, at every turn, she has expressed a gentle resistance to anything offered. But he’d <em> never </em>blame her for that: if anybody could relate to the reasoning behind protecting yourself from making attachments, it was Caleb Dume. </p><p>“Thank you, Love,” she replies gently, “but I wanted to do some charting before we sail too far into our trip. It’s been a long time since I’ve been near the Outer Rim, and I want to make sure that we’re well-prepared.” </p><p>Bundling his clothes, Kanan nods in understanding. Hera hasn’t told him much about her past either, but he <em> has </em>put together that she’d survived some Imperial violence on Ryloth. </p><p>“Are you nervous?” he asks, venturing a quick look in her direction. </p><p>Hera has finished wiping herself down with the damp, warm cloth that he’d prepared, and she is already stepping back into her orange overalls. Kanan feels a twinge of longing as he watches the supple, smooth curve of her ass disappearing beneath the folds of flexible fabric. Old Okadiah hadn’t been full of hot air: she is <em> breathtaking </em>in her fluid, strong beauty. Hera’s spine arches and flexes with a warrior’s athletics as she hosts her shoulders into the straps, securing the front of her leather-hard corset and vest.</p><p>“Not...<em> nervous, </em> necessarily,” Hera replies. She fiddles with her headset, sliding the letheris bands back over the grey slip. “Just lots of old, painful memories. It’s... <em> complicated</em>.” </p><p><em> Don’t I know it, </em> Kanan thinks, watching her wistfully. <em> Someday, if we can trust each other in that kind of way, I’ll tell you about what happened to me at Corescant. I’ll tell you about Master Balaba and all of my friends. I’ll tell you about the way that the hallways grew dark; how the screams grew ragged; how, through blaster-fire, she shouted at me to save myself.  </em></p><p>
  <em> And, maybe, you’ll feel safe enough to tell me what happened to you, too.  </em>
</p><p>Kanan rubs at his arm, wishing that he could say a bit more, but he knows what her boundaries are. He knows and respects what she desires from this, even if it is different than him. In the new dawn of this rebellion against the Empire, Hera Syndulla wants a crew-member: a reliable colleague, one who is quick and competent, and one who can assist her with various duties. And if one of those duties happened to involve satisfying their shared and most physical of desires, who was Kanan Jarrus to be opposed? </p><p>“Sounds complicated,” he replies carefully. “I’ll. Um. I’ll just go and use the ‘fresher first, then. Alright?” </p><p>He watches her turning away towards the cockpit, already put back together and filled with professional determination. “Yes, alright!” she calls cheerily over her shoulder, sliding into her pilot’s chair without looking back. </p><p>But Kanan isn’t convinced by the sound of her voice. He isn’t convinced by her posture, or the way that she’s going about pulling up the coordinates, staring at the star-map with a concentrated frown, as though nothing between them had happened <em> (and that nothing else ever again would). </em> Right now, he’d very much like to hold her; he’d h like to tell her that things will be alright, and that no matter <em> what </em> has happened to the both of them in their past, that they could build a new home, <em> together.  </em></p><p>But she doesn’t want that. At least...not <em> yet.</em> </p><p>With a sigh, Kanan turns towards the refresher. He’s going to take a long, hot shower, alone. He’s going to scrub the lingering smell of Hera Syndulla off of his dark skin; he’s going to cloth himself in something fresh, that doesn’t smell like the mingled sweat of their passion; he’s going to fall into a cold, lonely bed by himself, wishing that he was still resting beside her. It isn’t the life of love that he’d dreamed of. But, as things go, it is good enough. </p><p>At the <em> very </em> least, he now has Hera’s smile to soften his dreams.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><b>FIVE</b> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Staggering, Kanan Jarrus blinks through the sweat and blood rolling into his swollen eye. His mind reels with exertion and drink, and his legs shake with effort beneath him. He squints, doing his best to glare at the towering, alien brawler facing off with him.  “I can do this all evening!” he declares, swaying dizzily on the spot. </p><p>The burly, purple-furred stranger <em> laughs. </em>“Are ya sure ‘bout that?” he taunts, voice thick with a gravely Outer Rim accent ( <em> and boundless confidence) </em> . “Cause I’m pretty sure that ya haven’t even yet landed a hit on me yet…” he smiles, and Kanan can see long canines glittering in the dim, bartop light. “...and that yer properly <em> drunk off yer ass.” </em> </p><p>Kanan Jarrus snorts in derision. He’s a good fighter--<em> kriff, he was once in training to be a Jedi!-- </em> and though this man is putting up a tremendous fight, he will <em> not </em> let him win<em>. </em>It had begun innocently enough. Nearly seven feet tall, covered in a handsome weave of dark-purple stripes, the bruiser had swaggered his way into the bar where they’d been sitting. Kanan hadn’t minded him when he’d first ordered a drink; he hadn’t even reacted poorly when the man had slid one cheekily over to Hera. But when he’d started openly <em> flirting </em>with his captain?! That, Kanan found, had been his limit. </p><p>“M’not <em> drunk! </em>” Kanan protests, raising his fists. “You’re just too scared to fight like a <em>real</em> man!” </p><p>From her corner of the bar, Hera groans. Kanan’s flashes a confident grin in her direction, hoping to encourage her with his posture. She doesn’t seem to need it, however; in fact, she seems to be a bit <em>embarrassed</em> by the whole deal. “Kanan,” she says, rolling her eyes as she had when he’d first began taunting the jumpsuit-clad fighter, “you don’t need to make any more of an issue of it.” </p><p>Kanan is flabbergasted. He feels his chest swelling with indignation. “What, are you kidding?!” he protests in a bellow. “He--this guy--he <em> insulted your honor!” </em> </p><p>With a blast of sound, the other man roars with laughter again. Kanan hesitates as he sees the alien raise his clawed hands, one of them easily large enough to engulf his whole head. <em>“Karabast!</em> Ya think that you have somethin’ to teach <em>me </em>about <em>honor?” </em>He chuffs. The man beckons a finger at Kanan. “Go ahead: do yer kriffin’ best!” </p><p>It’s probably not his <em>smartest</em> idea. But then again, when it comes to Hera Syndulla, he hardly ever exercises his judgement. Pursing his lips, Kanan launches himself into battle. </p><p><em> “KANAN.” </em> Hera’s voice echoes warningly across the bar, but it’s still a few seconds too late. He’s already caught up grasping for fistfulls of jumpsuit and fur, feeling the hot breath <em> (and eye-watering smell) </em> engulfing him as he pummels against the meaty fighter. Perhaps <em> also </em>a few seconds too late comes the realization that his flailing fist-falls are doing less-than nothing against this tank of a person. Steady and solid, the alien holds him back with one arm stretched in front of him, absorbing the impact of his punches without so much as flinching. </p><p>As Kanan looks up wide-eyed into the smirking bristle of beard, he realizes that he will <em> not </em> be winning this fight without using the assistance of the Force. And <em> that’s </em> not an option. </p><p>“Listen,” the other man says, shifting his grip on Kanan’s vest so that the toes of his boots brush over the surface of the wooden floor. “M’sure that yer <em> much </em>better at this when yer sober. How about we just call it a rematch?” He grins down at him, blinking with vivid, catlike green eyes. “Anyway, I’ve already done enough tonight to beat up that pretty face of yers.” He sets Kanan down, brushing off his shoulders. </p><p>“W-what?” Kanan asks stupidly. He blinks at his opponent in bewilderment, feeling himself swaying again upon the spot. “You don’t--are you sure?--” </p><p>Hera slips between them, pressing a hand gently upon his heaving chest. “<em> Kanan,” </em> she says, quietly but firmly. “ <em> Enough </em> of this. You’re being an idiot.” She looks over her shoulder, smiling apologetically at the man. “Sorry about him,” she says, pressing against Kanan and forcing him to take a step backwards. “You know how new pilots get.” </p><p>“<em>You’re </em>the pilot,” Kanan protests, and Hera shots him a withering look. </p><p>“Thanks for taking it easy on him. I’m going to get us back to our ship now, patch him up a bit. Hope you have a good rest of your night, mister…?” Kanan watches her look up at the taller man expectantly, still pushing him gradually towards the open door. </p><p>“Orrelios,” the man replies cheerfully. He extends a four-fingered paw, shaking her hand. “Zeb Orrelios. But ya can just call me Zeb.” </p><p>Kanan sees Hera smile in relief. “Zeb, then,” she says. “Okay, thanks again. Have a good night--” he feels the Twi’leks hand’s scrabble around him, losing purchase, as the darkness around his head swells. “<em>Kriff it,” </em> she snaps, barely seeming to hold on as Kanan sinks bonelessly to the floor. “Kanan, you Bantha’s <em> ass, </em> you drank <em> way </em> too much lomin-ale back there. In this state, I’m going to have to <em> drag </em>you back to the ship--” </p><p>With a groan, Kanan feels the floor rushing up to meet him. “<em>OOoof,” </em>he says, wind rushing out of him as his bruised ribs smack the wooden finish. “Hera, you dropped me!” </p><p>It’s a blurry few minutes, the darkness of head-impact and drink swirling around him, as his drooling lips press into the floor and as he listens to the others’ concerned talking. “--be more’n happy to help carry him?” Zeb is saying, voice friendly and concerned. “No, no, you’ve already been plenty generous, don’t worry about us,” Hera is arguing back. “It’s <em> his </em> fault anyway--” Which, to Kanan, seems a bit unfair.</p><p><em> He’s the one who barged in on our conversation, </em> he thinks, remembering how he’d hoped to take the pilot on a date. <em> He could’ve just minded his own business-- </em></p><p>Big hands are grabbing him, and Kanan is feeling himself being thrown over a tall, burly shoulder. “S’not a problem,” Zeb is reassuring Hera. Kanan feels his stomach give a nauseous lurch as the tall man starts forward, walking them towards the door. “Besides, yer just a little creature.” The step out the door, and a rush of frigid, nighttime air greets them. Their travels over the past eight months had brought them through several planets in the Outer Rim, and tonight, they are parked on one of Laccthrice’s three moons. It just so happens that <em> this </em> moon happens to be covered with a thick layer of snow, and that they are in a state of near-constant winter. “Plus, I’m pretty curious: what’s a Twi’lek pilot an’ a rogue <em> Jedi </em> doin’ out here, anyway?” </p><p>If Kanan was more sober, he’d be more alarmed.</p><p><em> How does he know?! </em> But in his current, inebriated state, he’s forced to simply listen to the conversation unfold. “And what exactly have <em> you </em> been drinking tonight?” Hera laughs. To her credit, her voice sounds far more smooth and casual than Kanan would have expected. “That’s a dangerous statement. Don’t you know that the Jedi were declared as traitors to the Empire?” </p><p>“Don’ ya know that <em> Lasats </em> were condemned as <em> well </em>?” Zeb growls back, his tone dropping. </p><p><em> Ah. </em> <b> <em>That’s </em> </b> <em> what species he is: a Lasat, from the planet Lasan. </em> From where he is swaying upon the man’s shoulder, Kanan considers this new information. His brain is fuzzy, but he can still recall a few, memorized details. <em> Lasan...isn’t that where there was some kind of violent uprising a few years back? Didn’t I read about the Empire shipping T-7 Ion Disruptors back when I was working transport? </em>There is a bump in the road, and Kanan’s collected thoughts scatter. <em>“OOoof,” </em> he repeats, head swirling. “Zeb, was it? Put me down a second. Think I need to hurl.” </p><p>The rest of the walk passes in a blur.</p><p>Kanan hears the tone of Zeb and Hera’s chatter shift from vengeance against the Empire to the more cheerful topic of sparring. By the time that they’ve arrived back at the <em> Ghost, </em>Hera is inviting him in for a pint of hot cider and a game of dejarik. If Kanan could have expressed his displeasure in words other than a groan, he would have. “Make yourself comfortable,” Hera is saying to Zeb Orrelios. She places her hand on the door-lock panel, allowing the <em> Ghost </em> to swish open for its master. She gestures around to the small ship that the two of them have been sharing for the better part of a year. “The kitchen is that way, and the ‘fresher’s just there. I’m going to settle in <em> this </em>one first--then, we’ll crack into that hot Corellian cider.” </p><p>The Lasat whistles, bending to walk through the door and looking around the polished interior. “Well, Karabast! Quite the impressive starship ya got here, captain.” </p><p>Still thrown over his shoulder, Kanan grits his teeth. <em> “Karabast,” </em> he mutters, “what does that word even <em> mean </em>?”</p><p>He feels the man beneath him shudder with quiet laughter, then feels his center of motion shift as Zeb turns to walk him towards Hera’s quarters. “Right now, it means that yer gonna have to trust me with yer girlfriend,” he says, stepping through the doorway and dumping him onto Hera’s bed. “Cause right now, you need to get some rest if ya wanna avoid a right <em> nasty </em> hangover.” For a moment, Kanan freezes: he’s <em> never </em> been in Hera’s quarters, let alone anywhere close to her <em> bed. </em>Any time that the pair of them have ever hooked up, it’s always in his room. Or in the cockpit. Or on the kitchen floor. Or…</p><p>He glares up at Zeb, trying to express his distrust. </p><p>The big man just laughs. “Don’ worry, tiger: I’m just messin’ with ya. Or yer lover.” One of his tall, purple ears flicks in the direction of the doorway, where Hera’s shadow has just appeared. “Anyway, I don’ usually swing that direction.” Kanan blinks up at him, surprised, and the Lasat winks. He feels his cheeks warm in understanding as the man walks out, ducking through the doorway. “He’s all yours,” Zeb rumbles, patting her on the shoulder. </p><p>Kanan has doubts about that. Despite these months together, Hera has <em>firmly</em> maintained her boundaries. They are colleagues--perhaps, if he is lucky, even friends. But <em>nothing </em>more. </p><p>Blurry-eyed, he watches her walk into the room. For a moment, Kanan is worried that he has offended her, with the way that her eyes are searching over his form sprawled upon her bed. But then, when she draws close enough for his tired eyes to focus, he can see that her mouth is soft with something close to affection. “I brought you some bacta pads,” the Twi’lek woman says. Her voice is soft, and she is looking at him with tenderness. “Hold still, and I’ll try to get these on…” </p><p>Kanan finds himself sinking into a calm, blissful state while Hera’s fingertips work over his skin.</p><p>It hurts a little, of course; but it’s not unlike meditation, feeling the compassionate care as it wraps around him with healing. Kanan finds that even in his half-conscious state that she is treating him with more gentleness than he’s yet encountered. Yes, there have been many bruises and scrapes thus far in their time avoiding the Empire; but it’s always been a hasty slap of a stim-pack or a strip of bacta--not a tender exploration of his wounds. <em>She cares for me, </em> Kanan thinks, his heart fluttering into sudden and powerful life. <em> Hera Syndulla might not be in love, but she cares about me. Wants me to be alright. Will protect my well-being, and watch over me. </em>The realization of it makes him smile in pleasure; makes wetness burn at the corners of his eyes. </p><p>“Does it hurt?” Hera asks, her melodic voice filled with concern. “I’m sorry, I was trying to be careful.” </p><p>A tear must have slipped from his eye after all, because she is wiping away wetness with the soft pad of her thumb. “You’re really stupid, Kanan,” she laughs softly. “That guy Zeb was just looking for cheap entertainment. He’s <em>harmless</em>--so long as you don’t provoke him.” The thumb on the side of his face strokes his skin, swipes a stray drop of bacta away from his eye. </p><p>Kanan snorts. The sound of his humor makes his head throb. “What, <em> I’m </em> the stupid one? When you’re the one using words like ‘harmless’ for a <em> Lasat </em>?” </p><p>The Twi’lek woman grins, laughing softly. The hand holding the side of his head threads upwards, stroking through fallen locks of hair. “C’mon, he’s not <em> that </em> bad. Actually...when you wake up in the morning, and if you feel better...I want to talk about hiring him.” The expression upon his face must have been hilarious, because her smile grows wide and playful. “What? You have a problem with me adding crew to my ship?” </p><p>“Not at all, captain,” he slurs. He’d heard Zeb call her that earlier, and he has That Feeling that he’ll hear it again. <em> Why bother resisting the work of the Force? </em>“It’s your ship, after all.” </p><p>This makes her eyes grow soft with affection. “It <em> is,” </em> she agrees. The hand threading through his hair stills, and Hera looks down at him with a long stillness. “But...if I’m not mistaken...it’s also become a bit of <em> yours</em>.” </p><p>Kanan can scarcely breathe when her lips touch upon his.</p><p>The kiss, unlike so many others, is hesitant. <em> Fragile. </em> In it, Caleb Dume can feel his presence stirring. He feels the fragile threads of something precious, something <em> vulnerable </em> , being offered up in the gesture. He feels the unspoken confession, the offered commitment, held between them like a blooming thing. He feels the dawning of trust--of <em> love-- </em>as it grows, for the first time, over the horizon. </p><p>Hardly daring to move, he watches Hera draw away. Her lips are parted and beautiful, and he can still taste the sweetness of her breath on his tongue at this distance. </p><p>“Get some rest, Kanan,” she tells him softly. Hera reaches to the side, gathering a soft, hand-woven blanket in her hands and drawing it over his form. “We’ll talk more about this in the morning, alright?” </p><p>He is unsure if she’s talking about <em> Them, </em> or about Zeb. Perhaps, even both. Regardless, Kanan cannot stop the thundering of his grateful heart as he watches her retreat from the room. He cannot stop the grin that spreads across his face; the feeling of warmth flooding inside of his chest; the sensation of <em> hope </em> bursting inside of him. As he hears the comforting hum of two voices laughing together from nearby the kitchen, he decides that he’s got a <em> Good Feeling </em> about this. </p><p>And when Kanan Jarrus wakes up the next morning in Hera’s bed, he does not feel alone.</p><p>He feels warm.</p><p>And well-rested. </p><p>And <em>loved. </em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>PLUS ONE </b>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Sunlight streams in through the open window. The salty, sweet smell of puffer-pig bacon wafts from the kitchen, tickling his nose with a delicious sensation. Kanan Jarrus yawns, and he tastes the fragrance of flowers and lush, tropical fruit hanging from the trees of Yavin 4’s moon. Under his head, he feels the silky softness of his lover’s sheets. Upon his open chest, he feels the soft, warm pressure of her sleeping form. </p><p>Kanan cannot <em> see </em> any of this; but it doesn’t matter. It’s still his to cherish. </p><p>“Good morning, my love,” he murmurs. Kanan feels Hera Syndulla stir, still heavy from sleep and groggy from the first term of pregnancy hormones. The woman makes a soft, groaning sound, fingertips reaching over his face and pressing down on his smiling, parted lips. </p><p>“Shhhhh...” she instructs, kneading his mouth closed. “...I’m not awake yet. Five more minutes.” </p><p>Chuckling, Kanan strokes a hand over her back. The strong, battle-hardened muscles of the newly-appointed general have become more familiar to him than the texture of his own skin. “Are you really alright with trusting <em> Kallus </em>to do the cooking?” he asks. Ever since they’d picked up the former Imperial, he’d insisted upon making the crew regular, family breakfast on the weekends. “I know that he and Zeb are an ‘item’ now, but I can’t help but worry that he’ll poison the pancakes...” </p><p>Hera groans, and Kanan can just imagine her rolling those lovely, green irises. She shoves him, playful. </p><p>“Kanan, you’ve <em>got </em>to remember that this man has been Fulcrum for over a <em>year</em> now,” she lectures. But there’s no bite at all in her tired tone at all: it had taken her just as long as the Jedi to get used to their old nemeses’ frequent presence. “People can change, right? Choose to get better?” </p><p>“They certainly <em> can,” </em>he purrs in agreement. “And aren’t I thankful!"</p><p>Once again, Hera gives him a playful shove. It’s been a little over a month since they’d made their romantic relationship ‘official’; nearly one year after his blinding, and several after gathering Zeb, Sabine and Ezra. So much had changed between the pair of them, since that first star-crossed meeting in the alley on Gorse. So much, including his blindness; her capture; their incoming <em>youngling </em>together. So much change, and yet, still so much the same: his possessive, enamoured affection for her; his hanging upon her every, musical word. </p><p>“Wish you’d change to have a little more <em> manners,” </em>Hera grumps. “Alright, Wolf Boy: I’m awake now. Let’s go throw ourselves into kitchen peril.” </p><p>Kanan Jarrus grins. One of the results of their rebellious adventures upon Lothal had resulted in this latest of nicknames. With the assistance of his young padawan, Ezra Bridger, the pair of Force-users had summoned a pack of Loth-Wolves to hunt down and destroy the unknowing Imperials. Thinking of the horrified look on Grand Admiral Thrawn’s face as he’d been clamped between massive, toothed jaws is something that <em> still </em>brings a smile to his face. </p><p>“What are you smiling about?” Hera asks, running her thumb over his grinning lips. “Kiss me properly. Then we’ll go get our breakfast.” </p><p>“With pleasure,” Kanan returns. He leans into the warmth of her touch, their parted lips sliding together in bliss. He savors this: he savors every moment that he can bask in her presence, every time that he can taste her skin against his. When Hera draws away, he still finds himself with his lips puckered and searching like a bloat-fish. </p><p>Hera laughs. “C’mon, silly.” Her hand slips into his, drawing him from the bed. “Put your trousers on, and I’ll give you another.” </p><p>That’s plenty of encouragement for him. Now familiar with the process of using the Force to assist him in his lack of visuals, Kanan reaches out into the room and searches for a fresh set of clothing. As usual, Hera’s gone ahead and set out some of his favorites: a soft, v-necked shirt and stone-colored shorts. Heart brimming with affection, he walks across the room and begins stepping into a fresh set of underclothes, sliding the sleep-warmed pair from his body. </p><p>“What about that kiss?” Kanan asks, peeking around the doorway once he’s fully clothed.</p><p>A chorus of giggles greet him, and he senses the whole of their crew in the kitchen. Sabine Wren--a young Mandelorian woman with short, vibrant hair and an even more vivid passion for artwork--is stirring a pot of creamed oats upon the stove. Ezra Bridger--ever searching for trouble, always and ever finding it--is standing behind the Lasat Garazeb, teasing his ears with a flick of his finger. Zeb--one massive hand wrapped around <em> Alexandr </em>(he’s still getting used to that name for Agent Kallus)--is swatting back at the young man irritably. And Kallus, it seems, appears to be poised between standing and sitting; Zeb must have waylaid him in his baking, drawing him down in his lap for a kiss. </p><p>“I’d like one of those,” Kanan reminds Hera, as the green Twi’lek brushes by with a tray of fresh, frosted rolls.</p><p>Through the Force, he senses her turn and smile. Hera Syndulla turns, kissing him swiftly and soundly upon the cheek. Kanan beams; their relationship has progressed in leaps and bounds, but his partner is still reluctant in public displays of affection. He hadn’t expected her to <em> actually </em>make good on her promise. </p><p>“Get the meiloorun, won’t you?” she asks him, whisking away towards the table. “Ezra! Make yourself useful. Rex is outside, go invite him in for caf, please.” </p><p>Kanan smirks as he feels Ezra’s annoyance through the Force. “Yes, <em> Mom,” </em>he drawls, drawing out the last word with a low-hanging voice. He knows that the young man doesn’t mean a bit of his sass; this little, odd family means just as much to the Lothalian as anyone else. After their last few weeks in peril, it’s been a shaky recovery while back on Yavin. Kanan knows that each and every one of them is taking the time to feel grateful that they’d all made it out of there. The Jedi shivers. He cannot <em>imagine</em> a reality in which one or more of their numbers are lost. </p><p>“You alright there, Master?” Ezra asks curiously.</p><p>He’s returned from the hangar, and the former Clone Commander is walking behind him. Kanan recognizes the old man by the stern, steady tread of his feet; the proud, strong presence of his back, standing tall. “You don’t look well.” </p><p>Kanan murmurs a welcome to Rex, then places a hand on his padawan’s shoulder. “I’m great, actually,” he replies to Ezra. “Better than I think that I’ve ever been.”</p><p>Through the Force, he feels the young man smile back at him. There’s a hint of teasing humor there, but also, a kind of soft, mutual appreciation. “You never know what the Force holds in store,” Ezra Bridger replies. He leans into Kanan’s warm touch, sharing the good moment with his mentor. “I’m just glad that we’re all here together. And that it’s only a matter of time until we dismantle that kriffing Empire!” </p><p>From the table, Zeb roars with agreement. “That’s the spirit, kid!” he declares--and the sound of clinking glass informs Kanan that juice is being poured all around. Sabine laughs; Hera sighs; Rex and Ezra giggle. “Zeb, it’s <em> early,” </em> Kallus complains. “What’s in there? <em> Mimosa </em> ?” Kanan feels his mouth twitch with amusement as a yelp follows, as if Zeb has pinched the man sharply upon somewhere soft. “You’d <em> like </em> that, wouldn’t ya?” he rumbles to his boyfriend dangerously. </p><p>“Zeb, <em> EW!” </em> Ezra bellows. <em> “ </em> In front of my <em> pancakes?!”  </em></p><p>“Ezra, <em> settle down,” </em> Hera scolds. “Kallus: you too.” </p><p>“What?! I’m--I’m not <em> doing </em>anything!!!” the former Imp protests. </p><p>Awash in the delightful, familiar sounds of his family--enveloped in the feeling of being at home, and loved--Kanan Jarrus sinks down at the table. If you would have asked Caleb Dume a decade ago what would happen to him, he wouldn’t have replied. He <em> couldn’t </em> have; there is no way that he could imagine that he would be here. Here, on the <em> Ghost, </em> surrounded by people that he cares for, and who care about him. Here, in the rebellion, working against the Galactic Empire to fight for the grand idea of freedom. Here, with <em> Hera Syndulla: </em>the woman he loves. And who loves him, just as deeply, in return. </p><p>From the table, another excited yelp draws his attention. But this one is different; <em>special.</em></p><p>Sabine is shushing everyone, calling for silence. “Guys, guys, be quiet! I think that I just felt something!” As Kanan draws closer--leaning into the warm knot of his family, surrounded by the feeling of love--he feels a new, bright presence joining them. Awash in wonder, he turns his sightless gaze upon his lover. He doesn’t have words for her, even though he is growing more certain with seconds what is happening. Tears form at the corners of his eyes as he feels the chords of love growing bright and strong between them, and within the new, stirring figure within her womb. The one that is a sign of their love; the one who will join the rest of the Spectres, their new little fmaily. </p><p>“Yes!” Sabine says again, excitedly. Her hand is pressed to Hera’s belly, fingers searching. “I knew it! I just felt baby Jacen <em>kick</em>!” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>END &lt;3 </b>
</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>What did you think? Please let me know with comments or kudos if you have time! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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